Chinook Series Campfire Oneshot
by MosinM38
Summary: A glimpse at one of hundreds of new refugees in a new America.


Disclaimer: I own NOTHING OF JERICHO...Only my own characters.

Timeline: About 42 days after the bombs.

Series layout: This is set in the Chinook Series. It focus's around the Stout family 15 miles from a small town Called Chinook. Chinook is roughly 65 miles North of Jericho and 135 Miles south of Blackjack trading post.

This Chapter: Just a short one timer...For a change I decided to post a perspective from someone outside the Stouts circle but still meets them.

Warnings: Mild Language. Less than your average CSI.

Feedback: Leave if you want.  
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The fire crackled and sparked lightly as he added another pair of small sticks.

The man kindling the fire leaned back against the old, rusting car he was using for shelter and relaxed wearily. A traveller. A refugee many would call him. It was the first rest he'd had for almost a week. With some cans of beans he had scavenged from a abandoned farmhouse, he had also gotten his first solid meal in several days. His mind jumbled in thoughts, he slowly began drifting to sleep.

A twig snapped somewhere out in the darkness. Jerking awake, Adam made a jerk towards the holstered revolver on his belt. A short burst of fully automatic rifle fire punched into the car beside him, followed by a command uttered in a sharp bark, "Drop it."

Seeing the futility of fighting, the man slowly pulled the old .38 out of his holster and dropped it on the ground.

A man came out of the darkness and into the circle of light provided by the campfire. As he did Adam noted he was carrying a sawed off pump shotgun. That meant someone else was still out there with a gun trained on him. The man in front of him looked him over before speaking.

"What are you doing here? This is private property," he said.

"Sorry. Tough to tell what's private and what ain't around here," Adam replied.

"Step back...away from the dufflebag and put your hands on top of your head," the man said motioning with his shotgun barrel in a direction.

The traveller did so and leaned against the car frame. It was then he noticed the second person stepping into sight, a boy in his mid to late teens. He carried an AK47 easily and had it constantly trained on him.

"Watch him Grant, I will look through his stuff," the first man said.

Adam watched as the man set down his shotgun and undid the dufflebag.

He extracted everything inside it and set the stuff on the ground. That was all that Adam Carnegan owned anymore in the world. Two extra sets of clothing, a small pot for boiling water or soup, a small sack of snickers bars he found at a house, half a box of ammunition for the revolver and his packet of personal papers.

The older man opened the packet and rifled through it.

"Adam Carnegan," he muttered out loud. He looked at another couple of papers, "Medical Doctor," he finished.

"Yes," he replied.

"Where you from?"

"Denver. I was coming back when I saw the mushroom cloud over the city. Turned around and headed back east. Only got about 15 miles when I slammed into some idiot pulling a u-turn in the highway. After that I have been hoofing it."

"For it being almost 2 months since the bombs you sure haven't got far," the younger of the two said.

"Well..I found a few good spots to stay awhile. Mainly food or something I couldn't take with me. When it was gone I packed up and headed out again. Trying to work my way to Lawrence. A business friend is there. Might be able to help out."

"Lawrence is long gone pal. Wiped off the map the same day Denver was," the older man got up, "I'm John Stout, This is my son Grant."

"Pleased to meet you," Adam said, obviously not pleased, "So what now?"

John turned and looked at him, "You can stay the night. Pick up your gun in the morning at our house. Its about 2 miles south of here, and a bit of advice, when you make a campire...Be damn sure no one else can see it,"

"Why can't I have my gun now?" the doctor asked.

"If you found me in your house with a gun...would YOU let me stay the night with it?"

Adam shook his head, "No I guess not."

John got up and nodded at Grant, "Okay. Let's go," he turned to Adam, "Everyone at our place is armed. I doubt you will...But don't cause any trouble. It might not be to pleasent."

Adam didn't reply but he got the drift. Don't go messin around in the dark or you might get shot.

The two men turned and walked into the darkness. Sighing, the man crawled into the rough bed he had made out of 3 blankets. Thinking he would never sleep now, he leaned against the car and was out before the fire died down.

The next morning the sun was long shining when Adam got up and repacked his meager belongings into the dufflebag. He stood up and looked around a minute before finally seeing the Stout's buildings in the distance.

Somewhat refreshed from a good meal and a average night's sleep he walked in the direction of the buildings. A county road led to the buildings and he stepped onto it for easier walking.

Adam approached to almost 200 yards of the first house. He jumped slightly as a figure stepped out of the bushes alongside the road.

"Morning," the guy said. After a seconds thought he recognized it as the man called "Grant" last evening.

"Keep a little ahead," he warned," I don't want you behind me." Adam nodded and picked up the pace a little.

They walked up to the main building and the door opened.

"Mornin'. Just stay there I will bring your stuff," John said.

'_Stuff? What stuff?_' Adam wondered,'_I only had a gun_'

John returned a moment later with a small package. Inside was his revolver and 2 new boxs of shells, along with a large wrapped package of about 5 pounds.

"Beef Jerky," he explained, "We ground up and jerked every piece of beef we had in the deep freeze. Got it coming out our ears. At least until it's cold enough to store without freezers."

The doctor froze a moment, almost in disbelief. In the 45 days since the bombs, he had been in a gunfight, seen countless dozens of people who had died while on the path to survival. Many others who had been robbed, raped, or beaten. The majority of the surviving residents of the small towns viciously turned away refugees, not trusting weather or not they were criminals. And here was one family who helped out someone, basically a stranger other than what his drivers license and medical papers read on them.

"Umm..Uh..Thanks..Can I repay you..." he trailed off.

"Don't worry about it. You got a helluva long hike ahead of you..Just remember..Next time you come around...tell us first," John winked and had a short chuckle.

"Well...Ok...thanks again," the man hesitated and turned to leave.

"Where you headin'?" asked John.

"Well...I heard through the grapevine that there is a FEMA camp at Rogue River. I might be able to help out."

The other man shook his head, "I have seen one. Don't go near them. They confinscate everything you own. And you might or might NOT get what you need. Murder, rape, gang violence...Hell half of the camps are divided into "Gang sections"... If I were you go look around some of the towns. They could probably use a doctor around."

"Okay. Thanks for the tip. Any suggestions? I don't know the area," Adam said.

John thought a moment, "I dunno. Most towns are almost ghost by now..Jericho is still around. And New Bern. You can find the roadsigns about anywhere on how to get to them."

"Okay..Well...Thanks again. Maybe see you someday...Someday a little more pleasent."

"You do that," John replied.


End file.
